Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay? <br />Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste; <br />I run to death, and death meets me as fast, <br />And all my pleasures are like yesterday. <br />I dare not move my dim eyes any way, <br />Despair behind, and death before doth cast <br />Such terror, and my feeble flesh doth waste <br />By sin in it, which it towards hell doth weigh. <br />Only thou art above, and when towards thee <br />By thy leave I can look, I rise again; <br />But our old subtle foe so tempteth me <br />That not one hour myself I can sustain. <br />Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art, <br />And thou like adamant draw mine iron heart.<br /><br />John Donne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/holy-sonnet-i-thou-hast-made-me/
